


A bridge to the other side of life

by strawberriesandtophats



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Competency, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Sidekick life, Slice of Life, switcheroo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 22:18:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16355342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesandtophats/pseuds/strawberriesandtophats
Summary: Dot and Hugh switch places for a day, Dot working on case alongside Inspector Robinson and Hugh spending some quality time as Miss Fisher's companion.Or: In which Dot kicks ass and solves crime and Hugh gets the best makeover of his life.





	A bridge to the other side of life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MadHatter13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadHatter13/gifts).



Hugh didn’t know what to do with himself when Miss Fisher and Dot showed up at the station and whisked him away with a grin and a wink, patting him on the back before ushering him inside her car. Wearing civilian clothes to work was just plain odd, even though that he knew that he’d be spending his day in Dot’s place, while she would work alongside the Inspector.

He was used to his uniform. It was nice not to have to wonder what to wear in the morning. And besides, clothes were just something you put on to look presentable. He had enough clothes to get him through the week and then some socks that were not quite worn enough to throw out. It was fine. He’d lived like this for years.

Miss Fisher had suggested the switch in the sort of charming manner Hugh never really got used to, noting that since the Inspector was having trouble with the case he could benefit from borrowing Dot. The Inspector had agreed, noting that Dot was very skilled in the art of observation and told Hugh that he could just as well take a day off since Dot would be taking his place, to which Miss Fisher had suggested that she would borrow him for the day, then.

The look on Dot’s face had been one of fierce pride as she’d agreed too that it was a good idea to try out new things. The look in her eyes as she’d smiled at him at been like being flattened by a bus, because saying no would mean that the light in them would fade to something closer to resigned acceptance. He’d seen how that had faded from her eyes when she left her maid uniform behind to become Miss Fisher’s companion, so that it never really appeared in her eyes these days.

He never wanted to see it again, not if he could help it.

Hugh had nodded, because he’d know that by this point he was just along for the ride. And well, he’d always been curious to see what Miss Fisher was up to when she wasn’t solving murders and getting into all sorts of trouble on both when she was on holiday and in everyday life.

He barely got more than a soft kiss on the check from Dot, who had hurried inside the station before he’d managed to say a proper goodbye.

Miss Fisher’s smile as she drove was her devil-may-care one and Hugh found himself leaning back in the seat and enjoying the breeze. The last time he’d seen that look in her eyes she’d loaned him that very illegal and very instructive book…

“What do you want to do today, Hugh?” Miss Fisher asked, turning the wheel so that Hugh was pretty sure they’d taken the bend on two wheels. “Where do you want to go?”

Hugh had never been asked those questions in his life.

His schedule had been dictated by school and his various part time jobs and then by his job as a constable. His days off were when he’d stock up on groceries, do his laundry and maybe meet his buddies for a friendly soccer game. And dates with Dot.

How long had it been since he’d done errands that didn’t involve running to the post office or buying himself some lunch?

Months, probably.

Besides, he’d been saving all his money to buy the ring for Dot. And then there was the wedding to consider…

“I need some new shirts,” Hugh admitted. Those he owned were faded and worn, even if they still fitted just fine. Most of them had been second-hand anyway, sent to him by one of his cousins.

“Alright,” Miss Fisher said, as if this was a fun challenge. “That sounds like a good start.”

“And maybe a new jacket while we are at it,” Hugh said.

He’d expected Miss Fisher to park in front one of the nicer shops, which she did. He found himself buttoning crisp new shirts and pulling on soft sweaters. Warm undershirts, colorful socks and even a few pairs of casual trousers found their way into the heap of clothes-to-be-bought beside Miss Fisher, who had clapped in delight whenever he’d put on a nice outfit and emerged from the dressing room.

Thankfully she didn’t wolf-whistle at him, even if she appeared to restrain herself from doing so when she saw him wearing a very nice new jacket.

“Miss Fisher,” he said as he looked at the pile of clothes. “I can’t buy all of those right now, I’ll just take the ones that I like the very best and-“

“Oh, but I can,” Miss Fisher said easily. “Today I am treating you, Hugh.”

Then she took the clothes and put them all on the counter and then opened her purse.

“Right,” Hugh managed. “It’ll be nice to have new clothes for when I’m married to Dot.”

Hugh had not expected to end up at a fancy tailor’s shop afterwards, being measured for a new suit. He owned a suit already. Granted, he’d planned on buying a new one for the wedding and one when he’d finally get his promotion but just going into the shop like this on a normal day…was this how Dot lived? Seeing little wonders every day?

“This is my friend Hugh,” Miss Fisher said to the old tailor, who was fetching more chalk. “He’s getting married soon.”

“Your little nephew?” the tailor asked, making a soft noise as his measuring tape flew through the air. “He follows you like a duckling.”

Before Hugh could reply or in fact move at all, Miss Fisher had nodded and grinned at him in such a charming way hat he found his answer fade away. Her eyes were full of amusement, but also the sort of kindness that he’d come to realize was always there too.

“One suit for work,” Miss Fisher said. “And one for the wedding.”

Oh.

_Oh._

“Thank you,” Hugh said, swallowing the lump in his throat and straightening his back.

Miss Fisher smiled at him, patting his shoulder like he’d just found a good clue or scored a goal.

Hugh breathed in the scent of chalk and expensive cologne and felt the world turn.

 

Dot was solving crime and taking names.

She’d signed the paperwork to become a Special Constable and then Inspector Robinson had grinned like a kid in a candy store when he’d introduced Dot as Special Constable Williams to some of the officers who were working on the same case.

It was not like they hadn’t seen her around before, so she kept her head up. She was trained, same as them even though her training hadn’t really been official.

And besides, she was here because they hadn’t been able to solve this case.

Dot looked around the garden, which had a good-sized if empty vegetable patch and a few nice flower beds. Maybe the people who lived here had used to be farmers?

The house where the man had been found dead in his garden was shabby but achingly clean. The smell of strong soap and pickled vegetables was so strong that it was like walking into a wall.

The other officers were still glaring at her as she wandered around the kitchen, with its chipped plates and well-preserved fine china. The dishes had dried in the rack and a mixed berry pie had been left to cool on the counter.

But when Dot peered into one of the cupboards, she found a whole row of smashed jars, most of them dribbling brine and smashed pickles.

“Maybe he just died of natural causes,” a constable muttered.

“An axe in the head is not natural,” Inspector Robinson said. “Neither are all of those bruises.”

“They must have been scared of starving, sir,” Dot told the Inspector. “Sacks and sacks of potatoes and so many jars.”

“Maybe they just really enjoyed brine,” the Inspector said, picking up a jar of pickled garlic.

Before Dot could start to wonder about comparing her own pickling methods to these, she spotted an abandoned crocheted blanket on the kitchen table.

It was perfectly neat and tidy until it wasn’t.

The color hadn’t changed, but the wool was tight and there were more than a few dropped stitches.

“Sir?” Dot said. “Have you talked to the wife yet?”

“We’re trying to locate her,” Inspector Robinson said. “She seems to have left work and not come back yet. Why?”

“I think that she was angry,” Dot said.

“Based on what?” one of the constables said, scoffing. “Her little hobby not looking fancy enough for you?”

“She’s smashed her own jars and messed up her blanket when the rest of it is perfect” Dot said, pointing at the soft blanket and staring him down. “That means something must have changed for her to react like that.”

Dot looked up when Inspector Robinson made a thoughtful sound, looking impressed.

“One of the neighbors told us that the victim had been thought to have been killed in a car accident a month ago and that his wife locked herself in her room when she was told that he was dead.” Inspector Robinson said. “And that she has really kept to herself after he came back home without a scratch.”

“Must have been awful to get the news that your husband has died and then a shock to see him come home,” Dot said. “Do you think it was a happy marriage?”

Inspector Robinson took a look inside the cupboard with the smashed jars and then at the blanket in Dot’s hands.

“Not if that axe was involved in it,” he said. “We’ll find out.”

They began wandering around the house, looking at worn furniture and rumpled bedsheets in the tiny closet of a bedroom.

“Maybe she was happy that he was gone,” Dot suggested, looking at the crisp black dress on the ironing board. “Maybe she’d been waiting for a way out.”

“Good work, Special Constable,” Inspector Robinson said. “We’ll interview the wife together at the station as soon as we find her.”

“Thank you,” Dot said, ignoring the sour looks from the other constables who were guarding the door.

 

The salon was just as fancy as Hugh had imagined it to be. However, he had never expected to ever actually enter one unless it was for a case. Now his nails were being filed and a lady had rubbed cold cream on his face.

“You must work hard,” the lady who was filing his nails said. “Your hands are very stiff.”

“Yes,” Hugh managed. “I’m a police officer, so I’m pretty much always on call-“

“Do you want a free hand massage to go with your manicure?” she asked.

“Eh?” Hugh said, glancing at Miss Fisher, who was having her nails painted red and leaning back in her chair.

“It’s nothing improper,” she said. “She’s just going to rub your forearms a bit before painting your nails.”

“Alright,” Hugh said. “That doesn’t sound too bad…wait, she’s going to paint them?”

“If you don’t want that you don’t have to have it done,” Miss Fisher reassured him. “And I’m sure they can find a nice clear coat, even so.”

But the lady had brought a selection of nail polishes alongside even more cold cream, which she proceeded to slather over Hugh’s forearms before rubbing them industriously as if he was a slab of meat that needed to soak in some salt and pepper before it went into the oven.

“That pink nail polish looks nice,” Hugh ventured, trying not to feel like a steak as the lady dug her thumbs into the muscle right below his elbow. The polish was the color of one of Dot’s skirts, the one that always made him think of roses in the spring.

“That’s a good choice,” Miss Fisher said. “Very tasteful. I’m sure Dot will like it.”

Hugh liked to think of himself as a tasteful and polite person, so he waited for the massage to be over and kept his hands still as his nails were painted.

 

Hugh came back when night had fallen to find that Dot had broken into the station when the Inspector had found out that he’d forgotten his keys, solved a murder in a single day and was currently standing outside in her coat petting the smallest kitten he’d ever seen.

“It’s just so small!” Dot was saying, her voice wobbly.

Hugh edged closer, sure that there would be tears. The kitten was black as night, like a hole in the universe. Hugh wanted to scoop it up and adopt it. He’d be a good cat father. He’d buy a good basket and food and give the kitten some fish on Sundays…

“Get it together, Special Constable,” Inspector Robinson said, appearing to be trying to pull himself together and failing.

The kitten meowed, hurrying off to do the things that cats did when away from human eyes.

Miss Fisher had sauntered towards the Inspector and they were talking, but Hugh was too focused on the way that Dot was inspecting his shopping bags to notice much what his boss and Miss Fisher were up to. It was probably scandalous, in one way or another.

“I’m really impressed that you solved a murder,” Hugh said when Dot looked up from the bags. Miss Fisher had told him how important it was to actually compliment Dot instead of just looking at her with hearts in his eyes all the time, even if that was also nice.

“You look handsome,” Dot said, her fingers brushing the fabric of his new jacket before taking his hand and then making a little surprised sound.

“I’m pretty sure the lady at the salon put a whole jar of cream on my hands,” Hugh said when Dot took a better look at his hand. A blush climbed up his neck when Dot looked strangely impressed by his nail polish. “I’m planning on looking nice, you know, when I’m your husband, so-“

“And I’m planning on solving even more crimes,” Dot said, leaning into him.

“That sounds good,” Hugh said, breathing out. “That sounds just right.”

 


End file.
